I walked into your dream
And now I've forgotten how to dream
My own dream.
-Tori Amos, ‘Mother'
Vin had long ago pulled all the covers over to the far side of his half of the bed, leaving Chris ten kinds of frustrated and cold, among other things; the sharpshooter had adamantly refused to give Chris anything, rolling up and pinning the edges of the blankets underneath his body so Chris couldn't pull them loose. He'd tried everything from gently nudging Vin's shoulder to very loud, vocal demands that Vin give up the damn covers already, but nothing worked.
Finally, Chris admitted defeat, climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. He paused by his bureau, looking down on the still body of his lover, his lanky form barely recognizable under the heavy swathing of blankets; Vin had apparently curled up on himself sometime during the night, and he held the covers securely under his body and between his knees, knotting the fabric around him. Vin's left hand obscured what little of his face his long brown hair failed to cover, as if he were hiding.
Hiding.
The word seared across Chris's mind and echoed there for a while.
Hiding... hiding... hiding...
From what? Chris's heart twisted a little at the thought that the man who'd once just been a close co-worker, a friend even before that, and was the man who now had made a place for him in the full course of his days... who still felt that he had to hide from something, from Chris...
Infallibly, of course, Vin sensed Chris thinking about him--
Damned if it ain't like some weird Vulcan mind-meld, Chris thought
--and said, his voice muffled by his hand, "You comin' back to bed, pard?"
Chris blinked once, twice, trying to shake himself into the present, into the dark room where his
best friend and lover huddled under blankets. "Yeah," he managed to say, his voice hoarse.
"Yeah... just gettin' a drink. Of water." He tacked on that last bit belatedly, it being the first excuse to mind, and headed for the bathroom.
Once there, he turned the light on and stared at his reflection in the mirror, making no move to turn the faucet on. Instead, he studied his face intently, noting the shadows underneath his eyes- a result, no doubt, of spending a sleepless night fighting ineffectually for at least one blanket- and the disturbing appearance of tiny wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. Chris sighed, wondering where the hell those lines had come from, and why.
"You ain't gonna have a midlife crisis on me in the middle of the night, are ya?"
Chris jumped at the sound of Vin's voice, cursing himself first for reacting in such a way and secondly for not even seeing the sharpshooter's reflection behind him in the mirror. Vin kept his eyes squinted against the light and crossed his arms over his chest as if in irritation, as if to ward off cold... or as if to ward off something else.
"Wasn't plannin' on it," Chris said, keeping his voice as light as he could under the circumstances. What the hell had him so jumpy? The sleep-fogged expression on Vin's face told him nothing of use, and Chris felt even more uneasy at not getting a clear read on his friend for the first time in a long time. "C'mon... let's get back to bed, huh?" he said, more out of a desire to break the moment than to actually offer a helpful suggestion.
"You get your water?" Vin asked, and puzzlement creased the delicate features.
"Uh... wasn't thirsty after all," Chris mumbled, scrubbing a hand through his hair and brushing past Vin, determined to recapture at least some of the blankets before the sharpshooter got them again.
"You okay, Chris?"
What was it with the questions tonight? And why was he answering? Or, more to the point, why was he lying? Frustration with Vin and himself boiled up in Chris, burning through the last vestiges of sleep that clogged his brain.
"Could ask the same thing of you," he muttered, not meaning to be overheard.
The deepening of the silence behind him told him he had most certainly been overheard.
Reluctantly, struggling for an apology, Chris turned to see Vin staring at him from the other side of the bed, arms still crossed over his chest, but with his hands gripping his biceps, drawing his arms closer to his body.
As if to ward off cold... or as if to ward off something else... hiding...
"What'dya mean?" whispered Vin. Chris caught the glitter of cold tears in the younger man's eyes, imbuing them with the frigid brilliance of sapphires. The half-light cast shadows across Vin's body, but Chris could see the finely-knit muscles tense up in agitation, as if Vin were trying to withdraw into himself, to make himself smaller, in the hopes that whatever tormented him would give up, would consider him too small to be of much notice, would go away...
Hiding...
"You ain't been right tonight, Vin," Chris said hesitantly, taking his first cautious step off a safe trail and into an avalanche. He got no response, so he continued on, fighting to keep his voice level. "When you ain't got ten words for me... or... or anythin' else, when all you do is hide and not talk... Christ, Vin."
"Sorry, Chris." The whispered apology tore itself roughly from Vin's throat; the sharpshooter looked down and away as he said it, staring at the rumpled blankets on the bed before climbing back under the covers and pulling them all over him once more.
Not the desired response; the layers of blankets shut Chris out as effectively as any brick wall, and Vin always carried a silence with him, even in the exaltation of lovemaking and its aftermath, a silence more profound and expressive than any words... a silence that did not like to be broken by the inept babblings of Chris Larabee. Or anyone else, for that matter.
Still, Chris had to try. Had to try, to gain at least some peace for himself.
"You ain't gonna let this go, are ya?" The almost inaudible question floated up to Chris's ears.
Chris slid across the bed and took up his post next to Vin's head, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, knowing Vin would not take kindly to any unwelcome touch- even one from Chris. "Sorry, pard," Chris apologized. "Can't... Not this time."
The blankets heaved with one heavy, expressive sigh. A silent moment passed, the silence of a quiet, intensely private young man gathering his thoughts. Finally, Vin began to speak, in a halting and trembling voice that pained Chris to hear it.
"I... I ain't never had anythin' like this before," Vin said softly. "Not... not even with my Ma. Or it was the same thing, but diff'rent, ‘cause she was kin an' a little kid usually don't feel nothin' but love for kin. ‘Least, that's the way I've always reckoned it."
"I think it is that way, Vin," Chris replied, thinking about Adam.
"But... my ma, she died... she left, ‘fore I could feel anythin' for her but love," Vin continued, his drawl thickening as he descended into memory. "An'... I ain't never felt that way about anyone since then. Well, until now. An' there ain't been no one in my life to make me feel that way, until now."
Vin rolled over onto his other side so he could look up at Chris, and Chris saw the wordless questing written in those blue eyes, a silent plea that Chris understand what Vin couldn't put into words simply because there were no words. Chris had only the barest understanding of what Vin meant, could only compare it to the loss of his wife and son, but knew the comparison ended at
the two of them having lost something important.
"You... you got a chance at all this before," Vin said quietly, gesturing around the room, his hand ending up touching his own chest. "You know what it's like t' give someone everythin', someone you never owed nothin' to, someone you wanted t' be with just ‘cause you loved ‘em so damn much you couldn't be without ‘em. You know what it's like t' lose yourself in them, t' become a part of them. I ain't talkin' about sex... I'm just talkin' about how you just know them.
"I... I never got that chance, Chris."
Then it hit Chris, like a bullet square between the eyes.
He'd had a deep, loving relationship before with Sarah- a relationship made formal by marriage and consummated by a son. It didn't matter that they died; the time he had spent with them, treasuring Sarah's sharp mind and her soft body, looking for hints of the Larabee genes in Adam's face when he held his son in his arms for the first time, fights that ended with hot embraces and quiet words... He knew all that.
Vin didn't have the foggiest idea what such a relationship might be like, and Chris had taken it for granted that he did have that idea.
And Vin was scared.
"Don't want you t' think I'm cold or ungrateful," Vin said quickly, seeing Chris frown. "I... I just got to be alone with my thoughts for a while, get things sorted out in my own head, ‘fore I do anythin' else. I never asked no one about their dreams, never dreamed about ‘em unless they were shootin' or kickin' the livin' daylights outta me. Never shared hopes, fears, or anythin'... ‘cause those are things I've always kept to myself, an' could never get from anyone else.
"I... it's wierd," Vin continued, his voice raspy with the effort of speaking through tears, "t' feel like ya wanta sink into someone, but all the time you're scared, thinkin' you'd go so far you'd never get back to who ya are, that you'd give everythin' of yourself an' have nothin' left... That you're trapped in someone else- that you ain't yourself no more..."
Chris stared. Vin had the strongest will of anyone he'd ever met, a forceful personality hidden behind an unassuming exterior. What was he talking about, being trapped? Chris found himself ensnared anew every day by something that he had taken for granted or never noticed- the twist of Vin's body when he'd climbed a tree to rescue Casey's cat, the slight furrow of his brow when he stared at his computer screen at work, the clear distance of his eyes when he thought about something.
Maybe that was it... that distance made of memories and emotions that in turn made up so much of Vin. To share those things.... Chris cursed silently. That was the everything of Vin, what helped him define himself, when he'd had precious little else his entire life. So much of Vin's nature wrapped itself up in generosity; to give was as much a part of Vin's existence as breathing. But when it came to giving something he held so close... it scared the hell out of him.
"Reckon it's something I got to handle alone," Vin whispered, choking on the words, looking away again.
"Together, Vin. We'll handle it together," Chris responded, releasing his knees and sliding down a little lower into the pillows, to look Vin more directly in the eye. The younger man stared at him, a keen and penetrating gaze that Chris did not shrink away from. He could see Vin's eyes searching his face, hunting for any hint of insincerity, deception, denial, and they relaxed only when they found nothing there but complete and open trust.
"Promise?" Vin asked, holding Chris's gaze steady with his own.
"Promise," whispered Chris, reaching out to touch Vin on the arm. Hesitantly, Vin raised his hand to grip Chris's own arm just below the elbow, a delicate ghost of their traditional ‘handshake.'
"Thanks, Chris," Vin murmured, sinking down into the pillows, eyes already half-lidded with sleep.
"Don't mention it," Chris replied, lowering himself down next to Vin. "But I'm gonna have to take those covers back."
"Over my dead body, Larabee," mumbled Vin, burrowing deeper into the blankets.
"That can be arranged," Chris assured the younger man, and prepared to do battle.
The End
